Daring Darcy: Beauty & Blackmail 1
by MissCoraA
Summary: A London ball. Blackmail. A second chance at love. To save Georgiana from ruin, and her sisters from poverty, Elizabeth agrees to the unthinkable. . .to blackmail Darcy into marriage. But will her desperate scheme last the night? For Mr Darcy, unbeknownst to his enemies, has a certain set of skills. And not just in the bedroom. Sensual content redacted.
1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth never would have accepted Darcy's invitation to the ball if it had not been for Mrs Younge.

The carriage pulled up in front of Darcy House and stopped. There had been none of the usual chatter that accompanied a trip to a ball or assembly. Her younger sisters were at Longbourn, Mary and Kitty preparing for positions in service and Lydia wheedling a place as a companion for Charlotte. There was yet more talk of a potential suitor in Charlotte's last letter, but Elizabeth had read the words not written.

The younger Bennet girls still had no prospects for marriage.

She followed Jane and Aunt Gardiner down from the carriage, her best public smile plastered on her face and a small silk reticule dangling from her wrist.

Outwardly composed, she wore her most elegant gown in a shade of deep blue contrasting with the bare touch of rouge on her lips and cheeks—a colour Darcy had remarked he preferred on her in what seemed like their distant past. Before. . .everything. White flowers and creamy pearls nestled in her curls, saving the gown from severity. Normally she draped herself in cheerful fabrics, but darker hues suited her current mood.

"I hope I do not see him," Jane murmured.

"Not to worry, darling," said their aunt, patting Jane's arm. "If at any point during the evening you wish to return home, only say the word."

It was something of a small miracle they had convinced Jane to leave the house at all. She had only begun to smile again last month. Unsurprising. . .there was little to smile about these days, with both their parents succumbed to influenza over the winter.

Elizabeth's resolve hardened. The course of action she was about to take was for the good of not only her own family, but Miss Darcy as well, who did not deserve to have her private heartbreak become fodder for scandal. She deserved it no more than Jane deserved her ill luck in love.

"Steel yourselves, darlings," Aunt Gardiner whispered, "we approach the receiving line."

That the invitation had shocked Elizabeth was an understatement. With her own broken engagement to Darcy—no one but Jane, Charlotte, and Aunt Gardiner were aware of, it had been so short lived—and Bingley throwing Jane over for some random lady no one had ever heard of, neither of them had expected to mingle socially with the Darcys or those of their station again.

Why had he sent it? What could be his purpose, other than to shame she and Jane? But after Mrs Younge approached, there had been no choice.

Either Elizabeth attended the ball and complied with that woman's demands, or a girl even more innocent than Jane would suffer. A girl as dear to Elizabeth's heart as if she was her own sister.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth," Georgiana Darcy said, holding out slender hands, a blinding smile on her gentle face. "I am so happy to see you both. I am desolate you have not called. My brother told me you have been in London for some time now, though I have been lately in the country."

Elizabeth accepted and returned the dear girl's kiss, ignoring the tall, brooding person at Georgiana's side. "Jane has been unwell. We have not ventured back out into society as of yet."

Next to her, Jane murmured an affirmative, also avoiding the man standing next to Georgiana. But he would not consent to being ignored for long.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, voice deep, cool. An assault on her memory.

Stiffening her spine, Elizabeth angled her body just enough. "Mr Darcy." She could not manage any better greeting, even the smile on her face was strained.

He shifted, then stilled as if he, too, had to restrain a vastly different greeting. "We are honoured you could attend."

She and Jane curtsied, waited for their aunt to make her greetings, and then followed the line into the ballroom.

"Well, that is done and over with," Aunt said, deliberately cheerful. "Now we dance the night away."

They would, and Elizabeth had other business. She glanced over her shoulder once, met the blue eyes of the evening's host as he stepped into the ballroom. Had he followed her? Of course not.

But his gaze honed unerringly in on hers, nonetheless.

She danced every set, a bright smile on her face and her conversation as witty and cheerful as ever. _Make certain everyone sees you dancing, so if anyone is asked about Miss Elizabeth, the only remark they can make is that she danced all night._ And seemed to not have a care in the world.

The advice seemed sound, though admittedly she would not know, being unused to such skullduggery. Mrs Younge, however, wore a nefarious air like a fine perfume.

After her third set she began to relax, allowing herself to believe her own persona. It was a task, keeping a subtle eye on Darcy while engaging her partners.

She skipped lightly through the steps of the dance, anticipating one final partner change for the last bars of music when suddenly he was there, hands clasped in hers. Staring down into her eyes as if not a day had passed since they had last spoken.

Eight months and three days, to be precise. But who could be bothered to keep count of mere days?

"May I escort you for a refreshment?" he asked when the music had ended. "Walk with me."

Just like Darcy, to command her presence as if she would fall into whatever wishes he expressed. She had once thought that subtle arrogance as amusing as it was infuriating, and other times when turned to more carnal pursuits. . .intriguing. But now she stiffened her jaw in a polite smile, and cursed him silently.

But only in her mind. She had a purpose to fulfil tonight, after all, and making herself agreeable was almost required.

They left the ballroom and walked down a hall, eliciting curious glances while passing many individuals engaged in conversation. Some gazes lingering as perhaps they tried to recall the identity of the woman with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Before Bingley threw Jane over, he had escorted them about town to several functions and Darcy had accompanied them to many. Since that time last winter, however, she and Jane had retired from socialising. Darcy, evidently, had not forgotten where they now lived, though.

Elizabeth kept the socially warm smile on her face, knowing her carriage was as elegant as any woman of higher station here.

They entered a room where more guests gathered around a table laden with refreshments. Darcy approached, drawing a glass of punch and offering it to Elizabeth.

She took it with a murmured thanks and sipped.

"Is your family well?" he asked.

Her fingers tightened around the glass and she set it down before she made the unwise choice to fling the contents in his face. Her fingers tingled. But, glancing up to meet his gaze, she saw no knowledge in his eyes. Nothing but calm inquiry. He could not know.

"My mother and father passed over the winter. Influenza."

Jane had nearly succumbed as well, though not necessarily due to the severity of the illness. It had only been weeks after Bingley left her and she had had no will to fight. It had taken all of Elizabeth's energy to coax her sister back to life.

Darcy's eyes widened. "My God, Elizabeth." The words were soft, but fervent. "I had no idea. If I had known—" he paused.

"There is nothing you could have done. Jane was also very ill." Would Bingley have come? Would he have cared? The question hung unspoken between them.

"Forgive me," he said quietly.

"What for, Mr Darcy?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, pressing his lips into a thin line. She smiled, the faintest touch of her customary mirth reaching her eyes. No, there was very little he could say to her here in public besides a banal social pleasantry, and banal was not a characteristic he could claim.

"Please excuse me," she said. "I should find my sister."

"Miss Elizabeth, I would like to speak with you." The words seemed torn from his throat, escaping between gritted teeth. He had had a plan for their interlude, and she was not cooperating.

It delighted her to not cooperate. "We will speak soon, I promise you." She had no choice. And once they did speak, he would no longer be so eager to renew their acquaintance. She had the heart to feel a moment's pity for him.

. . . it was a fleeting moment only.

Darcy left the ball, a headache already growing. This entertainment was for Georgiana's benefit, and he endured it for her sake. There was no one in London he cared to socialize with other than family, and if he had his way, he would shut himself up away from them as well.

It was not at all like him.

He poured another finger of brandy, lifting it to his lips. Imbibing was not like him either, but the last several months had been. . .trying. His spirit ached with restlessness, and not only because he had determined from now on to remain close to Georgiana, until she was married, which might be for some years.

No, he could lay the fault for his dissatisfaction squarely at Elizabeth Bennet's dainty feet.

She had had the temerity to attempt to ignore him in his own receiving line. Her smile she had bestowed upon Georgiana, and even now he worked to squash his resentment. He could not blame her, not entirely. She did not understand him fully, and he was not at liberty to explain certain matters that might have resolved their worst arguments. Their final argument.

Darcy cursed. He understood why his role in separating Bingley from Jane was in her view indefensible, and had been grimly prepared to accept her wrath. But breaking their engagement had taken him by surprise. He had not been prepared for the depth of her loyalty to her sister, and he should have known better. More fool he, and it had once been his duty to judge a person's character and ascertain what they might do or say.

It had been too long. Trying to forget her had not worked, not when his body clamoured for another touch of her lips. Tonight he would make her listen to him.

* * *

**Daring Darcy** is a Pride & Prejudice sensual variation, first in the Beauty & Blackmail series. For readers who enjoy ODC a little spicy, and a little adventurous. Available on most major ebook retailers. Additional chapters available on author's website. See profile for link.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth lingered in the ballroom's threshold, watching for Darcy to emerge. _At some point during the ball, he will slip away to his study for a moment of quiet,_ Mrs Younge had told her. _That will be your chance. _Sure enough, once he stepped out of the drawing room, he strode in the opposite direction.

Now she followed him, staying far enough behind not to gain his notice, grateful for her soft dancing slippers. Walking with confidence, no one would have stopped her if they had seen her, but there were no servants in what she assumed was the family wing. Everyone would be on duty to attend to the ball.

She paused, glancing down the hall as he turned a corner and walked a smidgen faster. He entered a room, closing the door behind him and she lingered a moment, gathering her courage. She should have drunk more of the punch.

Hurrying down the hallway, she stopped outside his door, hand hovering over the knob. This was the moment when her gamble would bear fruit or ruin her family forever.

Opening the door, she stepped inside, shutting it behind her with a barely audible click.

He looked up, brow high. "Elizabeth?"

She faced Darcy, her heart ashes in her chest though none would guess. She withdrew a folded paper from her reticule.

Eyes narrowed, he set aside his snifter of brandy—and when had he begun drinking?—and accepted the note from her outstretched hand, brushing her satin-encased fingertips. Their last meeting had not been cordial, words flung at each other like daggers, and he was understandably wary of her sudden appearance in his study, when she should be mingling with his other guests.

He unfolded the paper, read. Her stomach twisted as bile rose in her throat. She watched his face, and knew when his eyes reached the final, damning line. But what choice was there?

None. Less than none.

"I see," he said.

When he lifted his gaze again, Elizabeth stilled, pinned under a flash of brilliant fury that he quickly suppressed. Darcy was not foolish, nor did she suppose him to be the sort of man to degrade his dignity with pleas.

"I accept your terms," he said. "May you have joy of them." He rose from his chair—the slow, unfurling crouch of a predator. And smiled.

He was a tall man, uncommonly handsome and even worse, unaware of it. What he was highly aware of, however, was his wealth and station. He exuded the restraint of a man who understood the worth of his power. Dressed in muted colours, black and navy blue—which she realised matched her gown—he eschewed the brighter fashions of lesser men who attempted to compensate for their lack by dressing themselves like peacocks.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back to disguise the nervous fluttering of her fingers. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and he had picked it up. She must not be weak.

"Come here, Elizabeth."

So they were on a Christian name basis now. It would be ridiculous to argue, considering she was blackmailing him into marriage.

She lifted her chin. Blackmailing him was no worse than what he had done to her family. All hopes had rested on Jane's marriage to Bingley, and now it fell to Elizabeth to secure the family fortunes.

At all costs. An opportunity had presented itself, no matter how sordid, and what other choice had there been? Either she would act in her own best interests, which coincided with the best interests of an innocent young woman, or she would condemn them all.

But. . .she must stop this refrain that there was no choice. There was _always_ a choice, and this was the one she had made.

"You are already proving yourself a disobedient wife." A hint of steel entered his tone, impatience at her hesitance.

Unclasping her arms, she smoothed her hands down her sides and moved forward until she was within arm's length.

He walked around his desk, leaning against it as he watched her unblinkingly.

"Closer."

This was ridiculous. Her lips thinned. "If you would care to tell me what it is—"

"Closer."

She flinched. The whip in his voice stung. She channeled her best impression of Lady Catherine, icy hauteur and disdain and an utter conviction of one's worth above all others. "I will not tolerate any discourtesy in our marriage."

He was unfazed, a brief glint of humour in his eyes which he immediately crushed. He had grown up with the woman, after all.

"I merely intend to seal our betrothal with a kiss. Am I not now allowed?"

"A kiss?"

She stared at him, eyes widening. She had entered the lion's den and demanded he bare his throat and now he was playing dead. . .waiting for her to make a mistake before he eviscerated her. He eyed her with the relentless intensity of a predator hiding his claws, waiting for the choice moment to pounce.

Good Lord. . .she read too many novels, gothics at that. Her father had always said so.

"A kiss. You do recall the act? Perhaps I should have made it more memorable if you have forgotten."

"Oh, but I really should be—"

Elizabeth halted her babbling, mentally slapping herself. This was no time to be missish. If she had the spine to blackmail a man like Darcy, she could stop behaving like a wilting fool and face her fate with some poise. He obviously had some sport in mind, and could she blame him? She would respect him less if he took his defeat lying down like a whipped dog.

Stepping closer, until naught but a breath separated them, Elizabeth looked up into his cruel face.

A beautiful face. Honed features and lushly lashed eyes bluer than the swirls of paint in her mother's best Prussian porcelain. Thin, well-shaped lips. Dark hair waved carelessly around his face, looking as always as if he spent his time running his hands through the strands. Which she had never seen him do, as controlled as he always appeared in public. His normal public mask was one of stoic reserve, to the point of diffidence. But now it was as if that mask had disintegrated with her actions. As if he now allowed an inner beast to peak forth.

If she gave herself over to grieving the proud but diffident gentleman, her resolve would crumble.

That same charmingly stiff gentleman had ruined Jane's chance at a happy marriage.

"I am waiting," he informed her.

Elizabeth grimaced, understanding that he intended she kiss him. "Is this intended to be some kind of punishment? Embarrassing me?"

His expression did not change. "No. Consequences for your actions will have to wait until after we are wed and I have your undivided attention."

* * *

_Sensual content redacted. Complete chapters available on author website. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 redacted due to sensual content. Full story available on most major ebook retailers.

* * *

Elizabeth left without another word, knowing her cheeks were pale. The ice in his voice as he evicted her from his study had leached every iota of warmth from her blood, even as his phantom fingers inside her body reminded her of the flames he had stoked only moments before. She paused in the hallway, closed her eyes and took a heartbeat to compose herself before entering the ballroom.

A heartbeat to banish the scrape of his teeth on her bud, his tongue lapping between her folds.

She made her way to her sister after some time had passed, weaving through the glittering throng. Jane turned towards Elizabeth as she approached, the smile on her lips absent from her blue eyes.

"Where were you?" Jane asked softly.

"Dancing."

Elizabeth waited for Jane to catch the blatant lie, but her sister merely nodded, looking back into the crowd with a distant gaze. "Good."

She exchanged a look with Aunt Gardiner. Jane's heart was broken and every smile a gift.

If she had had a momentary smidgen of regret, it hardened into resolve as she stared at Jane's profile. Darcy had ruined Jane's chance at marriage. Mr Bingley was now engaged to another. Their parents were dead and Charlotte was Mrs Collins, so not even that avenue of rescue was now open to them.

Sometimes there was no choice but to allow the waves of destiny to batter one against a hopeless shore. Except, her shore was not entirely hopeless. She might not have love or her husband's esteem—much less her own—but she would have his wealth.

And his body. His mouth, his damnable fingers, his scorching tongue. It was far more than many women gained in the marriage bed.

A woman bumped into her, understandable in the crush, but there was something not quite right about her manner. Elizabeth had just enough time to see that the quality of the woman's dress was slightly too shabby to be a guest of the Darcy's, but good enough to avoid intense scrutiny if one did nothing to attract attention.

"How graceless," her aunt murmured. "Whatever happened to a simple I beg your pardon?"

"It is nothing, Aunt. Shall we sit out this dance, Jane?" Elizabeth asked, fingers wrapping around the square of paper that had been thrust into her hand. The woman disappeared into the crowd.

Moving to a less crowded corner of the room, Elizabeth angled her body away from Jane and her aunt and unfolded the note, reading the single directive.

"On further thought. . ." Jane hesitated.

"Are you well, darling?" Aunt Gardiner asked.

"Perhaps I would feel more myself after supper."

"No," Elizabeth said, refolding the note and sliding it into her glove. She could not respond to the contents of the note with an aunt and sister in tow. "If you are unwell, let us retire for the evening. I daresay there will be other balls. We came simply to prove ourselves indifferent to our misfortunes in love. Let everyone else dance until the eight-hour candles burned to the stub."

Aunt Gardiner hesitated, giving Elizabeth a sidelong glance. "I saw you dance with Mr Darcy. And you spoke as well?"

Elizabeth understood what her aunt wanted to know—if there was any hope of a reconciliation. She hesitated. "We spoke. We are. . .considering."

She left it at that, not knowing quite what to say. There would have to be an official announcement of their re-engagement at some point, but she hardly thought either of them in the spirit for it tonight.

Aunt Gardiner was no fool, though. She did not quite beam, but it was close enough. "Darling! You should stay the remainder of the ball, then. You looked so happy while dancing and perhaps there might be another opportunity for conversation, under the circumstances."

"Without a chaperone, Aunt? Surely not."

Her lips pursed. "Yes, that is a conundrum, but. . .ah! Give me a moment. I spoke with an old acquaintance earlier, she is a lady's companion to Lady Whiting. If I introduce you and ask her to take you under her wing as a special favour, surely that would serve for the rest of the evening."

And would save Elizabeth from having to travel home and then sneak away again. "Very well."

Jane took her hand and squeezed. "Are you and Mr Darcy truly on speaking terms now? You cannot fool me."

Hope surged in her breast. This was the most her sister had spoken at one time, other than to the children, in weeks. Perhaps her wedding Darcy would be the lift in spirits Jane needed—she need not know the details, of course.

"We are."

"I am happy for you, Lizzy. Do stay. Who knows, perhaps at midnight. . .?"

Her family wished for her to be settled and happy as much as she wished it for them. Little did they know that fate would never be hers. Not now. Darcy would never forgive her.

Hatred—true hatred, and not just the stew of disappointment, impotent fury and helpless desire she felt for Darcy—bit like a venomous snake at her breast.

Her second appointment this evening would be with the foul architect of the scheme to entrap her future husband.

* * *

His valet was a man of many talents.

"Follow Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy ordered softly, once he left his study. He gave Barson the barest amount of information needed to make him aware of the situation. Barson's expression remained neutral. "See with whom she speaks."

Darcy was sober, barely. Just enough to rejoin his guests if he took care with his speech and did not dance. To his utter shame, since his youth he had had no head for wine and certainly not brandy. Barson would ensure, later that evening, that the shattered glass and its contents were cleaned from the wall and floor—along with all other signs of the temper he had allowed free for a brief, glorious moment after dismissing her. No one else was allowed in his private study. That Elizabeth had tracked him down was a feat of stealth. He would have to ask her, once his anger and lust cooled, how she had managed it.

She was an interesting creature, his future wife. Sneaky, intelligent, and a chameleon able to don the manner of a half dozen different individuals of her acquaintance—her mocking if good-natured impressions were one of the delights of her cheerful personality. A natural talent that might have caused him to recruit her, were he still in certain circles.

Seeing Elizabeth enter his home—dancing in the grasp of other gentlemen, her sensual beauty a beacon after months of silence—had undone him. He had wrestled with sending the invitation but in the end could hold out no longer. He was hopelessly in love with her, obsessed, and even worse, so pathetic that he would grasp at even this perfidious chance to claim her as his own.

He supposed he could take some small comfort in the fact that his heir would be neither plain, nor stupid. Not with her for a mother. He would have to ensure the child did not grow into a liar, however.

By the time Darcy stepped back into the ballroom, strains of bright music picked at his tightly controlled restlessness and exacerbated his headache. He had stuffed all his emotions behind a mask of icy politeness but his blood yet raged, Elizabeth's taste lingering on his tongue. Her cries in his ear.

Darcy's jaw clenched, his thoughts whirling, even muddled. If his rigid gaze cut a little sharper than usual, no one would note the cause, though they might wonder.

Barson sidled up to him. Darcy glanced at him, noting the hesitation. "What is it?"

"It appears she received a note from a lady I do not believe is a guest. This person has not left the premises and I am searching for her now. Miss Elizabeth has left the ballroom, however, so it was my belief they plan on a rendezvous. Her sister and aunt have left the ball in a carriage, I presume to return home. So the rendezvous must be here."

His hackles rose, instincts wakening, slogging through his self-induced haze. "We will search. Discreetly."

Darcy turned on his heel and made his way as swiftly as possible to the door, grimly pleased he had kept to the outskirts of the ball.

There were not many places an uninvited guest and Elizabeth Bennet could rendezvous without fear of discovery. Barson took the perimeter of the house while Darcy went to the guest wing, currently unoccupied. For a brief, secret meeting, any of the rooms would be ideal. As far as he knew, the rooms in that wing were not on a nightly cleaning schedule. He knew only because he had often played in those hallways and suites as a boy, hiding from his tutor, and had memorized the maid's schedules. There was no reason things would have changed.

The note could mean nothing. But he did not believe so. A note delivered by a mysterious, uninvited person on the heels of Elizabeth's successful blackmail attempt? It must be related.

He entered the hallway, his muscles tense from withholding his anger. That one taste of her this evening was not enough. That one moment of assuaging weeks of frustrated desire had only whetted his appetite for more. And now contempt mingled with helpless lust. He despised Elizabeth as much as he esteemed her cleverness, the directness of her gaze and heat of her heady passion as she dared, _dared,_ to use his own sister as a tool for her social rise.

His betrothed, Elizabeth Bennet, would not have the last laugh. He would see her sins punished in full, and he would take the price of this sordid business in flesh. Her no longer innocent flesh.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I love fanfiction. And I love serials even more. When I sat down to write this short (avoiding revisions on another novella sitting on my desk) I only had two words in my head; blackmail and ball.

But by the end I knew we were dealing with spies, the Home Office, insurrectionists and possibly an Elizabeth Bennet tearing about London after Mrs Younge. . .who I _think_ has a deep, dark scheme of her own?

I'm not certain. I decided this is going to be our fly by the seat of our pantaloons, just for the sheer joy of it, serial.

So What Happens Next? I'd love for this to be a serial that develops based on reader feedback. If you would like to tell me what Darcy and Elizabeth would do next (anything is possible, right?) then head over to the forum on my website and comment.


	4. Chapter 4

He encountered only one maid in the halls of the guest wing. He spared a moment of pity for the poor woman, who had likely been assigned to maintain all the rooms in this end by herself as there were no occupants. She curtsied, head down, as he paused.

"You are excused from any duties in this wing tonight." He wanted no witnesses to his future wife's perfidy, and a maid would not be suitable to assist in a search, in any case.

Darcy performed a systematic search of each room, pausing to listen with his ear pressed against each door before slipping inside to verify that it remained empty. He reigned in his temper, considering what he would do if he caught Elizabeth with a conspirator. The intelligent thing to do, as he had done many times, would be to listen and glean whatever information he could from their conversation. Then decide how to proceed. Blundering in there now would be the fastest way to ensure everyone involved began spewing lies—listening in ensured he heard nothing but the truth.

Bingley would laugh at him now if he knew Darcy was spying in home own home. The irony.

Darcy tracked her to one of the smaller rooms, anger throttled back—no matter how she deserved it, she was still a woman. And the thoughts running through his mind he could not inflict upon her unless he deserted honour. At least, not unless she begged him.

Elizabeth's voice rose with emotion, her words muffled. He entered the suite next to her locale. This wing had not always been for guests. In fact, a smaller bedroom, once a nursery and later a dressing room, connected this bedroom and the next. Darcy closed the first connecting door behind him and approached the other, leaning his ear carefully against the panel to listen.

He would hear what they said when thinking themselves alone. And damn him for a fool, in still hoping that somehow Elizabeth was innocent.

Nearly colourless grey eyes stared her down, glittering with malice.

"It was foolish of you to risk this," Elizabeth said, keeping tight control over her voice. The room was dark except for the dim light of a single candle.

"I know every room in this house, and besides, I am not alone." Mrs Younge dismissed her concerns, the flickering candlelight highlighted the older woman's thin, rat-like face. "Well?"

Elizabeth smiled bitterly. "I fulfilled your demands. He will wed me in order to save his sister's reputation. You are a despicable human being."

"Do not pretend this is against your will. You will have a rich husband, and your revenge. And Darcy will be trapped with a woman who betrayed him." Mrs Younge smiled, inhaling as if smelling the sweet scent of roses. "You do not know him like I do. He will be miserable and humiliated to take a wife so far beneath his station. He despises your sisters, do you know?"

"If that is all?"

"For now. I will be in touch."

Elizabeth stiffened. "Why? I did what you asked. I blackmailed Darcy into accepting a lifetime of unhappiness so you now have your revenge for what you think he did to Wickham."

Mrs Younge laughed. "You stupid girl. That was just the first part of my plan. Did you really think this would be the end? No, Mrs Darcy. If you wish me to keep the information I have on that brat to myself, we will see each other often. Having his wife under my control is a far sweeter vengeance."

Elizabeth stared at her, eyes widening in horror. "That was not the deal. You promised you would leave Georgiana alone if I complied. That was the bargain."

"And I will fulfil my end of the bargain. It will just take longer than you expected. Please, Miss Elizabeth—we are the same. Women who see an opportunity and seize it. You may tell yourself you entered into a devil's bargain for noble purposes, to save an innocent girl—" Mrs Younge's lip curled "—but we both know you have done it for revenge and to secure your future."

She began walking towards the door, pushing past Elizabeth, whose hands curled into fists. "I am nothing like you. Georgiana is my only concern!"

But in the back of her mind, she knew that to be false. Jane was also her concern. Jane, and their future.

May she be damned for taking advantage. But she would never admit the truth to this woman. They were nothing alike.

He pieced together only snippets of conversation, cursing the stout construction of the door. But what he heard was enough to prove Elizabeth was in league with someone attempting to harm his family.

". . .fulfilled . . .demands. . .wed. . ." Elizabeth, speaking low, the unhappiness in her voice clear even to his straining ears. So whatever scheme she had embroiled herself in, at least she took no pleasure from it.

Darcy inhaled. If he were a stronger man, he would ensure she took no pleasure in their marriage—but then he would have to deny himself, and he had no intention of doing so. He could take a mistress, but there was no honour in breaking marriage vows, even if coerced. Coercion or not, he had made a choice. They would both abide by it.

". . .will be miserable. . .I will be in touch."

". . .Wickham."

His eyes narrowed, and he restrained a hiss. Was she in league with Wickham? It was time to utterly destroy that rogue.

Laughter. Darcy frowned. Something about that laughter. . .

". . .would be the end? No. . ."

". . .Georgiana. . .complied. That was the bargain."

He growled, cutting the sound off before he gave himself away.

". . .devil's bargain. . .innocent girl. . revenge. . ."

The subtle thud of steps, wooden floors moaning as someone moved.

"I am nothing like you. Georgiana is my only concern!" The last words came clearly through the door, Elizabeth's tone rising almost to an angry shout.

His mind whirled with the implications as he impatiently shrugged off a certain mental sluggishness due to his earlier indulgence in brandy.

It had seemed like an agreeable idea at the time.

The struggle to think clearly distracted him enough that he did not register the creak of footsteps behind him until seconds later.

The connecting door shut with a click. Darcy whirled, rushing towards it and tried the knob, only to find that it had been bolted shut.

He lunged to the second door. Inside the room a door opened, a third voice whispered something in harsh, hurried syllables. An inhalation and the quick rush of feet and he knew, grimly, that he had been discovered somehow. The somehow he would think on later. For now, he cursed, turning the knob of the connecting door. The sill protested, and he realised it must have swollen. Leaning his shoulder against the panel, he pushed. It opened with a screeching protest. Time seemed to slow in the grip of his impatience, but it could have been no more than moments.

Elizabeth whirled, no surprise on her shadowed face, and stepped in front of him. A candle on a side table gave off an anemic glow, but he recognised her voice and the sheen of her sapphire gown. A mature colour, trimmed elegantly with lace in the same shade and tiny black beads.

Damnation. He must truly be drunk if he was cataloguing a woman's gown rather than—

"Darcy? What are you doing here?"

It was a weak attempt at distraction. Darcy brushed past her and took off towards the open bedroom door, flinging a command over his shoulder. "Do not move, Elizabeth, damn you."

"You followed me," she said behind him, voice hollow.

He scanned the hallway up and down but there was no sign of the two others. He ran its length and turned the corner. Empty. Turning on his heel, he strode back to Elizabeth who had emerged as well, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the bedroom.

"Who?" he asked. "Tell me everything."

She paused, then took a deep breath. "I cannot. She swore me to secrecy. If I tell you everything, she will release the information she has on Georgiana's ruin."

His fingers itched to throttle this mystery woman. "Georgiana was never ruined. She was never alone with Wickham."

"She has information to the contrary." Elizabeth's eyes lowered as she hunched her shoulders. She seemed to realise she was curling in on herself and straightened, pulling composure over her shoulders like a shroud. "What did you overhear?"

He shook his head. "Stay here, we will discuss this later. She may still be on the premises."

Elizabeth eyed him closely. "You do not seem yourself, Darcy. Perhaps you should sit."

Darcy gave her a hard look. "Do not leave this room, or I swear it will go ill for you, Elizabeth Bennet."

She nodded, and he left the room to find Barson.


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeth opened her eyes when the bedroom door opened. She leaned against the carved wooden bedpost, one hand loosely wrapped around. It seemed as if the whole night had passed, but it must have only been an hour.

The missive she had handed him earlier had been simple. Mrs Younge had sworn that threatening to bring forward witnesses to Georgiana and Wickham's botched elopement and hours spent alone in an inn, would be enough to coerce him into marriage. She had been right. Darcy had capitulate as if without second thought, with not even a protest. It had been. . .unexpected. She had prepared herself for many different reactions, but instant acquiescence had not been one. His cooperation had thrown her enough away from her anger that now her mind whirled, going back and forth with what she should do.

Darcy closed the door behind him and leaned against it, folding his arms as he stared. Earlier he had stood close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath. He had been slightly inebriated at the beginning of the evening. But now, the rapid-fire speech, glitter in his eyes and occasional distant silences, told her well enough that after she had left his study, he had imbibed generously.

She did not blame him. She almost wished she had joined in the drinking.

"You were unsuccessful," she said. He carried no air of triumph.

"I ordered a discreet search, but your accomplice has somehow slipped between my fingers."

Mrs Younge was wily, to be certain, and she had had an accomplice. The maid in the hallway, he suspected—a lookout charged with ensuring no servants disrupted the meeting. They had locked him in just long enough to run down the hallway and escape the house while he wasted precious seconds distracted by Elizabeth. Bingley would laugh, if it were funny. Darcy, fooled by a simple trick and three women. Elizabeth had done nothing to stop her. And would not, at least not until she was able to get her hands of the proof of Georgiana's ruin. Real, or fabricated.

"I am sorry," Elizabeth said softly.

His brow rose, then fell again. "Are you truly? You will wed into wealth and a higher station."

"Do you still plan to go through with it, then?" she asked out of curiosity, then found the answer did not matter. She was tired, the evening having drained every drop of life from her heart and limbs.

And there he stood, a beautiful fiend, staring at her as if he desired to take his frustration out on her person. Oh, she had no fear he would ever beat her. But there were other things a man could do to a woman.

She shivered. "May I leave?"

"So polite." His tone mocked her. "So obedient."

"For tonight, in any case. It is the least I owe you." She looked down at the floor, brooding. "Perhaps I should have told her to take her evidence and throw it and herself in the Thames. It really did not seem like I had much choice."

"You should have come to me."

"Perhaps. I. . .panicked." And she had been angry, so angry. She had desired vengeance for Jane's heartbreak, and that desire had not diminished. But now exhaustion blanketed her more fiery emotions, and she was able to think with perhaps a little more rationality.

Darcy studied her. "That still does not answer why. Why did you not come to me when my own sister was being threatened?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Darcy always had a way of arrowing to the heart of a matter. Always. And as much as she enjoyed taking a contrary side in an argument, she tried to never lie. Especially not to herself.

"I was angry that you separated Jane and Bingley. I wanted revenge. I wanted to. . .recover our hopes." Her eyes opened, and she smiled bitterly. "And there you have it. The entirety of my motivations."

He was silent for a long moment. "I cannot answer for Bingley. I did what I thought best."

Her temper flared. "You thought he would be more suited to a woman of his own station, which is a laugh as he comes from blood less noble than my own."

Wariness in his eyes, a flicker of thought quickly shuttered. "I cannot answer for Bingley. Miss Bennet is a lovely, well-mannered woman. I am certain she will find a suitable match."

Was he a fool? She stared at him, not bothering to hide her disdain for his platitudes. A match with no dowry, no connections, nothing to recommend her but beauty. She was not the only beautiful woman in London. Yes, all one had to do was snap one's fingers and a husband would appear.

Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her middle. And all of that was no excuse. The lack of condemnation in his gaze only increased her guilt. Oh, he was angry. The heat of his emotions crackled around him like a low burning fire. But the edge of contempt was gone. Perhaps he might one day forgive her. She could not forgive herself.

What in God's name had she done?

It had all made so much sense earlier.

Elizabeth rose, releasing her death grip on the bedpost. She had spent the hour alone in thought, her stomach in knots, and had come to the only possible conclusion. She could not go through with Mrs Younge's demands, no matter the consequences. "I must go. It is late and I do not wish to compound this tragedy of errors with—"

"Compromise?" He finally pushed away from the door, stripping his black coat, and then the vest of navy brocade, dropping each item of clothing as if they were rags. "It is rather too late for that."

Wh-what was he doing? "It is not too late. No one knows I am here. I should. . .no, do not come any closer."

She flung out an arm to halt his inexorable advance towards her, but he took the wrist attached to the arm and reeled her forward. None too gently, but his arms and hard chest were there to catch her, cradle her in their shelter.

"I deserve a reward for this evening's work," he said, and his lips descended on hers.

Darcy's mouth on hers bordered on savage. He abandoned mercy, abandoned his earlier ruthless gentleness, and simply plundered.

She tried to pull back, a single moment of clarity shrieking at her that this was a very, very poor idea, but his hands spanned her waist as her body rested flush against his.

* * *

The remainder of the chapter is redacted for sensual content, but unredacted chapters are available to read on my website free. :)


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